


All the Fics That Were Never Posted

by I May Age Regress (shnuffeluv)



Series: Gibbs' Family [81]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Age Play, Age Regression/De-Aging, Episode: s08e05 Dead Air, Episode: s10e19 Squall, Gen, Non-Sexual Age Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:55:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21713350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnuffeluv/pseuds/I%20May%20Age%20Regress
Summary: What it says on the tin. A collection of different fanfic's for theGibbs' Familyseries that I never published.
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs & Everyone
Series: Gibbs' Family [81]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/495577
Comments: 18
Kudos: 43





	1. Little Brother Big (Director's Cut)

**Author's Note:**

> So, kinda sad news, I suppose: I'm discontinuing the Gibbs' Family series as of today. It became too stressful and I wasn't sure where I was going to take the story, but I had all these fics as plans for later down the road, and eventually I decided that I should at least share these with you, because you all were such a loving audience, and you deserve to see how I planned to end the story.

Timmy made his way out of the building, heart hammering in his chest. DiNozzo's words were ringing in his head. "Don't be scared. If you need Papa, go to Papa. I've got this." Despite the encouraging words, he wasn't feeling in high spirits at all. The other man's words kept playing as well, contradicting everything the others had ever told him about him being useful or even just a good person. "Good riddance, I say. The world has no place for people like that," he could hear the man's voice in the distance, faint but still there. He was just outside the building now, and his eyes were getting hot, and really he just wanted Papa or Tony or Ziva there with him to make the bad man go away, even if he was right.

Papa was talking with Ziva, who was holding a hammer in an evidence bag. Timmy wrapped his arms around his stomach. He felt queasy, like he might get sick. But he also felt floaty, like his head wasn't attached to his body. His legs kept him moving without him really telling them to. Papa took one look at him and told Ziva something, probably along the lines of taking care of the other suspects, before coming over to Timmy. "Hey, kiddo, you okay?" Papa asked softly.

Timmy sniffled and shook his head. He felt like he was about to break; a piece of china under too much pressure that was just going to shatter. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"L-later," Timmy managed. "Tony needs your cuffs."

"Okay. Okay," Papa said, wiping away some of Timmy's tears. "Why don't you sit in the back of the van for a bit, hm? It's probably quieter back there, and definitely darker. And when we're back at the office, you can talk to me?"

Timmy nodded and went to the van, climbing into the back and closing the doors. He could see Papa walking into the building and he sat down in the back corner of the van right next to the evidence bags. He felt horrible. Good riddance, good riddance, good riddance, his mind taunted. You're nothing more than an idiot, the others just take pity on you.

No, he refused to believe the voice in his head. At least on the last bit, it had to be wrong. Because if the others only took pity on him, only cared after him because they felt sorry for him, then there would be no reason for him to stay. There would be no reason for him to work at NCIS. There would be no reason for Papa to keep him around. No, the voice had to be wrong. It had to.

The back of the van opened and DiNozzo climbed in, with a busted lip but looking very satisfied with himself. Timmy just wanted a hug, and was relieved that when he reached out, DiNozzo hugged back. He was feeling better, if only slightly.

They talked a bit, and the more Timmy got off his chest, the better he felt. He couldn't quite believe DiNozzo when he said that Timmy was smart, but it was the thought that counted, and that meant more to him than words could say. They went to Tony's car and conversation moved to lighter topics, and Timmy knew that for now, at least, things were going to be okay.

Back at the office, Timmy was doodling on a notepad when Papa walked in. Ziva was off making some discreet calls, and DiNozzo was watching the man they had in interrogation, so it was just the two of them there. "Hey," Papa said gently. "If you need to talk, I'm here."

"The man, the one in interrogation..." Timmy started, trailing off to try and find his words. "He called me stupid. In worse words. A-and, he...he compared me to an autistic kid he knew. Which-which doesn't bother me because the kid was autistic, I know I sometimes appear to be on the spectrum even if I was never found to actually be on it. It's...it's the way he said it that stung. The fact that he said people like that kid and...and me shouldn't exist. It...it hurts."

Papa's eyes flashed with anger. "Well, he was wrong," Papa said. "You're wonderful, Tim, don't ever doubt that."

Timmy looked up at Papa, feeling his eyes start to get hot. "How can I believe that?" he asked. "I don't know how I'm supposed to believe that."

"You say it over and over, whenever you feel bad about yourself. This is both your papa and your boss saying this, understand? You belong here. You're family. And I wouldn't have it any other way," Papa said sternly.

Timmy started to cry and he swiped at his eyes. "I...I can try," he allowed. "But...but I don't think it'll work, for very long at least."

"Try, for me?" Papa asked.

Timmy swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "Mm-hm. I'll try."

Papa smiled. "Good. Now, I have to take care of the guy in interrogation, will you be okay by yourself?"

Timmy nodded.

"All right. I love you," Papa said, giving his hand a squeeze and walking out of the bullpen. "And I'll send DiNozzo back here if the interrogation takes too long, so he can talk to you if you need it."

"I love you too," Timmy whispered, going back to doodling. "And I'll try to believe that I'm worth something."


	2. Clearing the Air

Tony knew it had to be done. He had been debating it all day, but seeing Papa play with Ziva on the baseball field, smiling like everything was right with the world when everything was clearly not right, at least not in Tony's world, he knew he had to come clean about McGee's and Ziva's "joke" in Royal Woods.

Once they were back at the office, working on reports, Tony kept an eye on McGee and Ziva. He knew how to pretend to be big so that Ziva and McGee could only suspect he was little, but never prove it. Papa would know, though. Papa had been able to tell for years, now, when he slipped, even if he didn't say anything. He wanted to make sure neither McGee nor Ziva were around for this talk with Papa. He didn't want to hear their desperate excuses at the moment. This was something that needed to be explained in full before excuses or apologies were made.

Papa was sending him glances. Tony knew that Papa knew. He also knew that Papa was wondering why he wasn't coming outright with it and instead feigning being big. Tony made eye contact with Papa for a half-second, and Papa's jaw set. Tony knew his fear and apprehension had bled through just enough that Papa had caught a whiff of it. "Everyone, pack in for the night, all right? We can finish paperwork tomorrow," Papa said.

McGee and Ziva didn't need to be told twice. Both of them locked up and left in the span of two minutes. Tony stayed seated as Papa walked over. When the elevator closed and McGee and Ziva were gone, Papa crouched down to Tony's level. "Talk to me, kid."

Tony took a breath for strength and everything came spilling out in a raspy, tear-soaked voice. "McGee and Ziva played a really bad prank on me, Papa. And I know they were joking and I know they would never do what they said but the fact that they said it makes me feel really, really yucky and--" he coughed, as Papa rubbed his shoulder, waiting patiently for Tony to come to the point. "Th-they joked that...that they were...that they...um...they turned off the radio while I was getting voice prints."

Papa's face turned murderous. "They did what?!" he hissed.

Tony cleared his throat. "I checked the recordings in the car. They didn't actually do it, Papa! I know they never would...but it still hurt."

"Why didn't you say anything sooner, kiddo?" Papa asked. "That sort of thing is completely inexcusable."

Tony took a breath, cleared his throat, and winced. His voice was coming back, but not by much, and it still hurt to talk too frequently. "We had to find the bad guys first, Papa. They had a bomb."

Papa sighed and shook his head. "Tony, you know those priority lists we have?"

Tony nodded.

"Your safety comes before catching bad guys on that list, remember?" Papa asked. "And even joking about turning off the radio is endangering your safety."

"How?" Tony asked.

"Because like you said, it hurt you," Papa explained. "And if you couldn't trust McGee and Ziva in the field because of that, you could get into situations you really didn't want to be a part of, or you could get hurt because you were trying to defend yourself by yourself. All of that could lead to much bigger problems."

"Oh," Tony said. That made sense, now that he thought about it. He still needed some practice with his priority lists, then.

"Tony," Papa said, bringing Tony's focus back to him. "What do you think we should do about this problem? This can't go unpunished."

Tony squirmed. "I don't want everyone to think that they're dirty, or that they can't be trusted Papa. But I don't think that desk duty is going to cut it this time."

"No, I don't think so either," Papa agreed. "What if we gave them a taste of their own medicine?"

"Papa?" Tony asked.

"What if we did something to them and told them it was only a prank?" Papa clarified.

Tony shook his head. "Unless it was something really small, I'd feel yucky about it. And Timmy could cry."

"I wasn't thinking we'd go out in the field and do something...I was more thinking that we could tell them a story, or give them a fake case study, about two agents leaving their partner without backup. And it had really terrible consequences for everyone involved. I don't think we should beat them over the head with it, but make it bad enough that they want to fess up to the crime," Papa explained. "And once that's over and done with, we can set down rules about where pranking stops and dangerous actions begin."

Tony considered. That was better than what he had been thinking about...he nodded. "Okay, I can handle that. Timmy still might cry though."

"In which case we'll help him feel better while still making sure he knows that what happened was not okay, deal?" Papa asked.

Tony nodded. "Deal."

"Okay," Papa said. "Now I was serious about finishing those reports tomorrow. And I don't really feel like staying here all night working on a fake case report. How about we go home and work on that starting tomorrow?"

"I could try and help you make one tonight at your place," Tony offered. "I can bring my laptop over and we can print it tomorrow morning before anyone else comes in."

Papa nodded. "Okay, that works. Pack up, and I'll take you back to my place."

For most of the night, Tony and Papa worked on the case report. When they finally finished, it was half-past midnight and both of them quickly fell asleep on the couch.

* * *

The next morning, DiNozzo was printing out four copies of the case report on an office printer, before going over to his desk, grumbling. McGee and Ziva both looked over. "Something wrong, Tony?" Ziva asked mildly.

"Just another mandatory training thing," DiNozzo sighed. "We have to go over this case report and talk about what the agents should have done differently to prevent what happened. Apparently, this is based on a real case, and I'm not looking forward to seeing what it's about."

He stapled the papers together and passed one to Ziva, one to McGee, and dropped a third on Gibbs' desk. "Finish your paperwork and then start working on this. If we're lucky, a case will come up and we might get a day or two without having to work on it," DiNozzo said.

McGee nodded and Ziva just sighed.

The first half of the morning went by without too much trouble. Everyone was finishing their paperwork and starting on the "assignment" DiNozzo and Gibbs had put together. And that's when things got interesting.

The report detailed an agent who was looking for a murderer and scoping out the neighborhood where the man most likely lived. However, his partners were not paying attention to the wire, and had gone as far as turning the mic down so they didn't have to listen to it. This resulted in the agent calling for backup that didn't come, and he wound up dying in the murderer's garage, the only way the agents even realizing something was wrong was going through the early evening with the agent not making it back to their car.

DiNozzo could tell when McGee got to the part where the agent was found out because his grip on the paper tightened and he turned a very interesting shade of pale green. Ziva said nothing, but her lips thinned into a line the more she read. When DiNozzo subtly nodded to Gibbs, he left for coffee and DiNozzo went to the printer, watching as McGee rushed over to Ziva's desk. He snuck back to the partition, listening to their conversation. "Ziva, we have to come clean about that joke," McGee insisted.

"McGee, the fact that we have to read this case is a pure coincidence, all right?" Ziva soothed. "There's no reason to panic."

"But...but what if Tony actually thought we were serious?! He could have almost died and then came back and if we had made that joke, we would be out of here faster than Gibbs could headslap us!" McGee exclaimed.

"Tim," Ziva sighed. "It is a coincidence."

"Gibbs taught us not to believe in those," McGee said. "And I think Tony is trying to teach us a lesson. What if he goes to Gibbs about this before we do? Do you have any idea how much trouble we'll be in?!"

"We'll get desk duty, but I imagine that's it," Ziva shrugged off.

"Ziva..." McGee trailed off. "Look, I get it, okay? Tony can be a little bit much in the office, and yeah, sometimes I want to get even at him, but I'd glitter bomb his desk, not pretend to turn the radio off! I didn't want to go along with your joke in the first place, and this isn't a coincidence. I know you and him haven't been getting along as well ever since Somalia, and I know you've been working on it, but doing this because he got on your nerves is going too far. I'm telling Gibbs, the only question is if you'll come clean with me or not."

DiNozzo felt like he could finally let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. McGee going along with a joke like that had completely blindsided him. But if his conscience was acting up on him even before all this happened, there was hope for his little Probie yet. And he and Ziva were clearly going to need to talk more, but this was a starting point for their discussions, and hopefully DiNozzo would be able to call her out on her BS more often now, because he knew that this was the result if he didn't.

Gibbs came back to the bullpen and DiNozzo followed him in, watching McGee nervously approach Gibbs at his desk. DiNozzo hadn't seen McGee this nervous in years, but he supposed the possibility of being fired meant that he was definitely scared. "Uh, Boss? I have something to...uh...to confess to you..."

DiNozzo had to resist the chuckle that threatened to come out as Gibbs looked up at McGee expectantly. Even after all these years, DiNozzo found it somewhat hilarious that Gibbs was an amazing actor. "What is it, McGee?"

"Uh...well...you see...the uh, Royal Woods case...Ziva and I, we may have. Um," McGee winced. "We may or may not have told Tony we turned off the radio when we actually didn't as an attempt at a joke."

"I know," Gibbs said.

McGee paled and DiNozzo felt somewhat vindicated, even as he felt some compassion for the man as he stammered out, "You know?"

"Tony told me. Last night," Gibbs said, standing up. "And if you ever do that again you will be escorted out of here so fast your head will spin, are we clear?"

"Y-yes Boss," McGee said weakly. "I just...it didn't sit right with me...I won't try and make excuses, for me or Ziva, but...I didn't know what exactly to do."

"Well, I imagine that after reading the report Tony and I made last night, you'll think twice before pulling a prank like that again." Gibbs looked over to Ziva with obvious disdain. "Both of you."

DiNozzo was surprised when McGee came over to his desk. "I'm really, really sorry, Tony. I won't try and make excuses, because that was inexcusable, but I hope that you can forgive me."

"Of course," DiNozzo said. "Once I made sure you didn't actually turn off the wire, I just needed to make sure you knew that wasn't okay. You learned your lesson. Now, Ziva, on the other hand, you and I are going to need to have a serious talk."

Ziva sighed and crossed her arms. "You didn't die, and you knew that it was a joke. Where is the harm?"

"When I start to doubt that you have my back," DiNozzo said without missing a beat. "When I go into something not bothering to call for back up that I think won't come if I call. When I get hurt because a bad guy does something that I try to stop on my own because would my partners even hear if I called for help? That is where the harm is, Ziva. And if you don't see that, then we need to have a couple more talks before we start mending bridges."

"Like it or not, DiNozzo is your boss, Ziva. As much as me. And you need to treat him with respect," Gibbs said. "And that includes owning up to your mistakes. I wouldn't allow you to pull this stunt on anyone, but especially not DiNozzo. Because you need to respect your superiors."

McGee decided to chime in as well. "I don't care if I sound like a hypocrite, but that wasn't okay, Ziva. And we both know it. Talk with Tony before we have to go on another undercover mission, all right? See if you guys can come to some sort of understanding. Unresolved sexual tension notwithstanding, you guys have some things that you definitely need to talk through."

"Well, gee, Probie, thanks for that comment," DiNozzo gagged. "Unresolved sexual tension--do you even hear yourself right now?!"

McGee shrugged. "My other point still stands."

"Yeah, it does," DiNozzo allowed. "And...maybe later we should talk too. Obviously, you're getting the hang of where pranks stop and disrespect begins, but it's still something we might want to address."

McGee shrugged again. "Sure. Over lunch, maybe?"

"Lunch works," DiNozzo said.

"Now that we've cleared the air, does anyone have any objections to actually getting back to work?" Gibbs growled.

Everyone took the hint and returned to what they were doing before. Ziva was slightly miffed, McGee still looked a little green around the gills, and Gibbs was definitely still annoyed with everyone, but those things could be worked through with time. Right now, DiNozzo just wanted to focus on getting back to work, and whatever new "normal" they were trying to find these days.


	3. Squall Tag

McGee was working on his computer, alone in the bullpen. It was late, but he needed to get this done, soon as he possibly could.

He went over the search through Graves' e-mails again and again, hoping that he had just missed something, and if he tweaked the parameters he would get it. But nothing seemed to be working, nothing was getting the results he needed. And to make matters worse, his mind constantly drifted back unwillingly to that conversation with his father. The man was stiff, but amiable, as if he had just been away for half of McGee's childhood and was confused as to how McGee was an adult, and hadn't physically abused him every chance he got. Because that's what he had done, he had abused McGee, and the man thought that he was finally coming to terms with that. But one unexpected appearance of his father had him reeling and he didn't know how to regain his balance. Talking about his mother and berating him for running away--as if he had ever had an instinct to fight his father after being belted so hard he lost consciousness. It was too much.

Without so much as a warning, McGee's vision went blurry and his breath hitched in his lungs and his chest burned. He buried his face in his hands and let himself breathe, as much as anyone could breathe when they were silently sobbing. He inhaled and exhaled as soon as the air met his lungs, because trying to hold the air in would just make everything worse.

Someone was walking toward the bullpen and McGee tried to pull himself together, but he was finding it hard to keep Timmy away, and his panicking about that would just mean he would be little in a second. He didn't move his face from his hands because if he was lucky, the person wasn't Gibbs and would assume he was asleep. If he wasn't, well, it was Gibbs and the man might think he was asleep, swipe his arms from under his head and it would collide with the desk.

The footsteps quickened and someone was on the other side of his desk, putting down a cup of coffee, and McGee almost lost it then and there, because _oh, crap, Gibbs is gonna kill me_ , but he continued his breathing and pretended like he wasn't hyper sensitive to every sound, smell, and touch when he was in this bad of a panic attack. "Tim?" Gibbs asked softly.

McGee grimaced, because that voice sounded far too much like Papa for his little side to handle, and the crying just got harder, because he _knew_ someone out there actually cared about how he turned out, he _knew_ what a loving father acted like now, and it just made it even more obvious that his actual dad...probably hated him. But he didn't dare make a sound outside his breathing, which he knew was too loud to not get him in trouble to begin with, but he was getting good at telling when it was and wasn't okay to freak out, and while this wasn't the perfect place, it was better than most of the other places he had been the past few days. Certainly better than in front of his father.

"Hey, Tim, can you look at me?"

McGee lifted his face a few inches and wiped away the majority of his tears before looking up at Gibbs. The man was genuinely concerned if his body language was anything to go by, and in that moment McGee's heart just shattered, and he allowed himself to throw his adult facade to the side. Timmy whimpered and curled into a ball, burying his face in his legs. He was all too aware of his surroundings, unlike the last few times he had lost it thanks to his dad, and he thought that either he had finally started to heal the old wounds, or this entire evening would be blocked from his memory the second his head hit something soft enough to fall asleep on.

In a second, Papa was at his side and guiding him out of the chair and onto the floor, wrapping his arms around Timmy to apply gentle pressure. Timmy whimpered and whined some more, leaning into Papa and trying to absorb the fact that his father didn't really care about him. No matter what he said, or anyone thought, his dad didn't care. Not like Tony, not like Ziva, not like Abby or Jimmy or Uncle Ducky, and definitely not like Papa. "H-h-he n-nev-v-ver c-ca-cared 'b-bout me..." he spoke through his sobs.

"Ssh, it's all right," Papa said softly. "It's okay, just let it out."

Timmy tried to breathe in and out normally, but his sobs kept that from happening. He was too scared of his father to stand up to him, and he felt like the biggest hypocrite in the world for just turning tail when his bully showed up.

"Hey, Timmy, it's all right, you don't have to be calm. You're allowed to be upset."

"No," Timmy said, wiping away fresh tears. "I have to...h-ha-have to..."

Papa squeezed him tighter and shook his head. "Whatever you think you have to do that's working you up, kiddo, you don't. Not if it's making you this upset in the first place. You don't owe your father anything."

Timmy choked on his tears as he started to laugh. "Y-you know what I always used to say to him before he left?"

Papa just looked at him blankly.

"'Watch out for the bad guys'. I was, like, five, and I was just old enough to know what was going on when he deployed, and he was leaving the house. I-I was proud of him for doing that, 'cause, you know, it's what everyone told me I should be. A-and as he left the house and went into the car that was going to drive him away, I ran past my mom and shouted it from the front porch. That's the only time...I remember him being genuinely surprised and happy at something I did. S-so it stuck, and sorta became tradition. I th-think...I think that he remembers that, and expects me to always act that way towards him...like he didn't hurt me or leave me with as many problems as I have. I j-just...what happens when I let him down again?"

"Then he can talk to me," Papa said seriously. "And I'll make it clear why he's never entitled to feel 'disappointed' by your reaction."

Timmy swiped at his eyes and looked over at Papa. "B-b-but he...he's m-my dad, f-for bet-better o-or worse..."

"That's _not_ how it works, kiddo," Papa said sternly. "He abused you for years. You don't have to give him a second chance if you don't want to."

Timmy sniffled miserably. "B-but...what if only p-part of me wa-wants to...?"

"Then don't give him a second chance," Papa said. "If _any_ part of you is saying to turn tail and run, there's a good reason. And if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't give him a second chance either."

"You wouldn't?" Timmy asked. Maybe he wasn't a horrible person for not wanting to reconcile with his father after all.

Papa shook his head. "I would be angry, and hurt, and I would be wary of someone attacking me again. And you have every right to feel that way, and cut the person who hurt you from your life. Even if everyone around you is saying you should forgive them. And the only one I hear telling you that is yourself."

Timmy bit his lip. "I just...I wanna believe that there's good in him, Papa. He was nice to Sarah, so why couldn't he be nice to me?"

"I don't know," Papa said. "Truth be told, I don't really want to find out. Any excuse is not an excuse at all, and his explanation would probably only lead to assault charges."

Timmy giggled at that. "'Violence is never the answer,'" he quoted. "You're the one who tells us that."

"I know, which is why I don't want to hear his excuse," Papa said with a slight smile. "So that I don't have to hold anything back. Because that's not my style, but I want to set a good example."

"Papa?" Timmy asked.

"Yeah?"

"I wanna go home tonight," Timmy said. "I...I dunno if it's okay with you, 'cause the case is kinda bad for everyone, but if you're okay with it...I don' wanna be alone tonight."

"Of course, kiddo. It's all right if I drive you?"

Timmy nodded.

Papa stood up and helped Timmy to his feet as well. "Come on, then. There's a bed at home with your name on it."

Timmy smiled softly and focused on breathing normally as Papa led him out of the building. He needed to keep relatively calm so he didn't wipe himself out before he was home. The fresh air caught him off guard and he sucked in a breath quietly, but other than that and the occasional residual tear and shudder he kept composed.

Papa kept looking at him with worry, like he was thinking Timmy would start breaking down at any moment, but really, the worst Timmy felt right now was shaky. And yeah, he might have been shaking hard enough that he could barely grab the car door's handle, but that was better than a flashback, or worse, actually having to go through that experience again for real.

The car ride to Papa's place was uncharacteristically quiet. Not silent, no, but it wasn't Timmy doing the talking, or trying to. "So, kiddo, how have you been holding up?" Papa asked.

Timmy didn't respond, just looking out the window.

"Anything you want to do in particular when we get home?"

No reply.

Papa looked in the rear view mirror and sighed. He shook his head, pressing just a little harder on the gas. Timmy pretended he didn't notice. He had been able to voice to Papa what he wanted-and that was good, that was progress-but beyond that words felt beyond him at the moment. Memories he had long since buried had started to pop up again in full Technicolor glory, things he wasn't even sure happened before tonight. "There's lots of bad thoughts, Papa," he said softly. "There's lots of bad thoughts and they're doing more than just telling me to hurt myself, they're talking about what Daddy did."

"Don't listen to them, kiddo, once we're home I can take your mind off them but until then you just can't listen to them, okay?" Papa sounded so helpless that Timmy felt his own stomach sinking at the tone of Papa's voice, and he wondered if he had ever done this to Papa before without meaning to. "Just hang on, baby boy. We're almost there."

Timmy tried his best not to think about it, but it was hard. Of course, soon they were back at Papa's, back at _home_ , and Timmy thought that he might be able to breathe easy. He walked through the doorway, and froze on the threshold, jacket halfway off his shoulders. Standing in the living room, larger than life, was none other than his father. Timmy swallowed, and somehow managed to avoid wetting himself. His father was just staring at him, boring holes into his head. And suddenly McGee caught up with his little brain and muttered, "Forget melatonin, I'm gonna need some bourbon tonight."

"Good to see you too, Timothy," his father said. "Why are you here?"

"Like I said, melatonin," McGee said, hanging up his jacket and finally letting Gibbs inside the house. "Needed something to help me get to sleep tonight and Gibbs happens to have it in supply while I don't. Problem?"

"I was hoping to have a _private_ conversation with Agent Gibbs," his father said, frowning.

"Oh, talking about me behind my back, are we now?" McGee asked. "You know, I thought you stopped that when I found out you were doing it at age seventeen and I nearly broke your nose. Thought that because I stood up for myself, maybe you'd finally get the message. Clearly, I was mistaken."

"You watch your mouth," his father said.

McGee felt rage swell in his chest and he bared his teeth, striding up to his father and jabbing a finger in his chest. "No, I think _you_ need to watch it, _Dad_. I'm not a kid anymore, I won't just roll over because you want me to, and I won't back down if you start to hit me."

There was a spark of fear in his father's eyes, and he looked over to Gibbs for half a second, McGee watching the reaction with the barest hint of the rage he felt making itself known on his face. "Oh, believe me, this isn't the first time Gibbs has heard about that, Dad. And I sincerely doubt it will be the last, the way it _conditioned me_ for the better part of _my entire life_. I still have nightmares, thanks to you. You ruined my life, I won't let you ruin it any more by trying to get Gibbs on your side. Believe it or not, he's said several times he'd _love_ to talk with you, but I doubt he means verbally." McGee snarled. "This is your only chance to get out."

By the time McGee's little speech was over, he was shaking so violently it was a miracle he was still standing. His father growled. "You think you have any right to tell me what to do, boy? Because you don't." In seconds, he had undone his belt, and was swinging the buckle back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. "Maybe the last time I taught you a lesson wasn't enough. Maybe that's my fault. But I'll make sure this time you know who's in charge."

Gibbs was already moving forward to intervene, but McGee was closer. He didn't think, didn't register in his mind that there was anything more than a threat in the room. He grabbed his father by the shoulders and threw him against the fireplace behind him. His father cried out in pain and charged forward, and McGee delivered a sucker punch to the gut, bringing his father's face down onto his knee, and used the very belt that was supposed to hit him to secure his father's hands behind his back. "You. Don't. _Ever_. Touch. Me. Again," McGee growled, voice shaking with every breath as he stood over his father, who was blinking in shock on the floor. "Never. Again."

"Hey," Gibbs' voice was soft, and the hand on McGee's shoulder was barely a ghost of a touch. "Take a breath, you're okay. You understand? Breathe, Tim."

McGee pursed his lips and turned away, walking out of the room and up the stairs halfway until he knew Gibbs could tell where he was, but his father couldn't. "He's insane," his father spat. "I don't know what happened, but I _never_ \--"

"Shut up," Gibbs said sharply, and there was the sound of a belt being run too quickly across skin. "I don't want to hear what you have to say, clearly your son doesn't either. You aren't welcome here."

His father sighed and McGee felt his skin crawl. "...What are you going to do?" his father asked.

"I'm going to get to the bottom of this murder, and put whoever did it away. I'm going to make sure you _know_ to stay out of Tim's life from now on. I'm going to make sure that everyone who can get justice, does. But most importantly? I'm going to kick you out and make sure _your son_ hasn't killed himself because of what _you_ did to him. Because I've heard it straight from his mouth that he gets thoughts about hurting himself repeatedly. And you know whenever they flare up particularly bad? Whenever there's a reason he's thinking of _you_ ," Gibbs spat. "Get out, and don't even think about coming back here, or trying to come into contact with Tim again. If you do, well. I don't think I'm the one you should be worried about answering to."

His father stumbled into McGee's line of sight, presumably because Gibbs had shoved him. Belt in hand, he looked up the stairs and made eye contact with McGee, who stared calmly back. His father scowled, turned on his heel, and walked out the door, slamming it hard enough to rattle the frame.

Timmy took a shuddering breath and pulled in his legs close, pressing his eyes into his knees. It was too much, too much. All this was just too much to process in one night.

And in a moment, Papa was there, walking him through how to breathe, rocking him slightly, keeping a steady stream of words coming from his mouth. So maybe Timmy didn't have a daddy anymore. Maybe he never really had one in the first place. But that was okay. Because he knew, forever and for certain, that he would always have a papa.


	4. Boys With Dolls

McGee had to walk past that toy store one too many times on a canvas recently, and he couldn't get it off his mind. It was driving him crazy, this little nagging idea that Timmy was crying out for. And McGee couldn't keep ignoring it without the risk of him slipping up at a random time, he had found that one out the hard way. So one day, on his way home from work, he pulled up to the storefront and walked in, glancing around.

The lighting was cheery, and the walls were a bright yellow, mocking him in their happiness when he was so pensive. Slowly, he made his way down the aisles, eyes scanning for what he had seen advertised in the window. When he found the right aisle, he forced himself to move forward, despite his knees feeling weak and his hands shaking. Every inch of him was telling him this was wrong, that this is what Dad beat you for, do you really want to repeat the cycle? But he continued.

The packaging on what he was looking for was a reddish-pink, and McGee inwardly sighed. Just because girls played with them, did that really make them only for girls? Girls played soccer and went on monkey bars, too, and he had never gotten scolded for doing either of those things; only scolded for not being good at them.

His thought process stopped when he saw what he was looking for, and he swallowed. It was on sale, that was what the sign in the window that had caught his eyes in the first place had said. But still...the thought of actually buying the thing...it went against all logic, pure and simple! He was a grown man, for goodness sake!

Looking around, he found he was the only one in this aisle. That was the only thing that gave him enough courage to take a step forward and grab the box from the shelf. He knew it was only healthy for him to indulge in his interests from time to time, his therapist said so. Didn't mean that made this any easier.

He swallowed and walked back towards the front of the store where the register was. The cashier smiled as he walked up and made a passing remark that he must have a very lucky daughter. He laughed nervously in response and said, "Actually, it's for my niece. She's at that age, you know?"

"I know very well," the cashier said with a laugh. "I'm the uncle to two of my own, I know what that's like. Regardless, that's one girl who's going to be very happy."

McGee nodded, took the bag with his contraband inside, and rushed out the door into the parking lot, where he ran smack into Gibbs. "Oh, hi Boss," McGee said, clearing his throat. "What brings you here?"

Gibbs looked McGee up and down. "I could ask you the same thing. Figured Tony could use some fresh markers, the one's he has right now are drying up because he never puts the caps back on and you know how he gets."

McGee subtly shifted the bag he was holding so it was resting behind his legs more than at his side. "Makes sense. Therapist said I should indulge in...uh...in some of my more unconventional interests from time-to-time to avoid frequent slip-ups. Not that I've had those for a while, but...you know, it's never good to chance it."

Gibbs sent McGee a knowing glance. "What kind of interest would bring you here?"

McGee shrugged. "It's nothing big, really. Art stuff, more or less."

"More or less?" Gibbs asked. "How can something be 'more or less' art?"

"It's...uh, you know those mannequin things?" McGee asked. "That's not strictly art but it helps you make art? Yeah, it's like that."

"Ah," Gibbs nodded. "Want to swing by my place tonight? I'll only be a few minutes, we'd probably get back to my place around the same time even in different cars."

Half of McGee was screaming yes while the other was screaming in terror. "Sure, I guess," McGee said. "See you in twenty minutes."

Gibbs smiled and walked into the store, while McGee headed to his car. He opened the trunk and placed the bag in there, forcing himself to keep breathing at a normal rate. Panicking wouldn't do him any good, and breathing exercises didn't always work, but McGee was certainly going to try and keep calm.

He shut the trunk, got in his car, and drove away from the store. If only Gibbs hadn't been there, McGee might have gotten away with keeping this a secret a while longer. As it was, he felt like his hand was being forced, as Gibbs was probably going to ask for more specifics when McGee got to his house, and that was something he was not looking forward to. He knew Gibbs wouldn't beat him for this, but that didn't mean that he wouldn't be punished or told this was taking everything too far. His stomach flipped involuntarily. This was...not good. Why did he agree to go to Gibbs'?! He was allowed to go back to his own house, Gibbs didn't strong-arm him into anything! But here he was, white-knuckled hands on his steering wheel as he went to that house he knew all too well.

As he pulled onto Gibbs' street-too soon, too soon, too soon!-he tried to swallow the lump in his throat. He turned off the ignition in front of Gibbs' house, but he couldn't find it in himself to get out of the car. He fiddled with the keys in his hands until there was a knock on his car window and Timmy jumped half a foot.

Papa was standing there, looking amused. Timmy got out of the car and huffed, the chill in the air causing his breath to fog. "Everything all right, kiddo?" Papa asked.

"Mhm," Timmy said, eyes darting away.

"Yeah, no, kiddo, I want you to be honest with me," Papa said, a bit of sternness in his tone.

Timmy whined and shook his head.

"Is this about what you bought at the store?" Papa asked.

Timmy bit his lip and nodded. Papa looked in Timmy's car and frowned. "Where is it?"

"Trunk," Timmy said, but he blocked Papa with one arm before he could look inside. "Wait. I...I need to explain...I just..."

Papa looked Timmy over. "Yes?"

"I...It's just..." Timmy played with the keys some more. "I can't explain, I don't know how to it's just..." He whined. "I'm not a girl, okay?"

Papa looked more lost than ever and slowly Timmy lowered his arm, gesturing to the trunk. Papa took the keys from Timmy's hands, and popped it open. There was the rustling of plastic and Timmy's cheeks burned bright red. No hiding it now.

The red-pink box was brought into his field of vision and staring accusingly up at him with those blue eyes, was the doll he got not twenty-five minutes prior. "Kiddo?" Papa prompted.

Timmy swallowed the lump in his throat and took a shaky breath. "S-Sarah had one of those when she was...maybe six? And I liked playing with it. But, um...whenever Dad found out I was playing with Sarah's toys again, he'd...um...try to 'set me straight' on what I could and couldn't play with. I just...I just wanted to play with one without being in trouble for doing it."

Papa sighed and Timmy felt his stomach flip a little. "Kiddo, if you had told me sooner I would have helped you with this. Figure out if this is something you'd really enjoy and then work with you from there," Papa said.

Timmy shrugged. "Well, it took a while for me to realize that you weren't gonna hurt me, a while longer to feel better about myself, and somewhere along the line I realized I could question my dad but...this was something I wasn't ready to do for a while."

"Are you ready for it now?" Papa asked.

"No," Timmy admitted. "But if I don't do it now I'm gonna start slipping up again when I don't want to and it's going to be worse."

"Okay," Papa said softly. "Do you want to go inside and play for a bit?"

Timmy nodded.

"Go inside, then. I'll get everything out of the packaging and then you can play with her, sound good?"

Timmy's ears burned bright red but he nodded and forced himself to go inside despite his embarrassment. Papa was right behind him the whole way, though that didn't make him feel any better. He sat down on the couch when inside and let Papa go to the kitchen, getting a pair of scissors to open the box. His fingers curled into his palms tightly, before very, very slowly releasing. He tried to go through his breathing exercises to keep himself calm, and while it kept away a panic attack for now, it certainly did nothing to calm his nerves any more than the bare minimum.

Papa came back into the room, everything in the box now in his hands, and he placed them on the table. "If you value your doll's life, keep it away from Tony after I've told him he can't suck his thumb," Papa teased.

Timmy giggled despite himself and sat forward, picking up the doll, before looking up at Papa. "You're sure you don't mind?" he asked.

"Kiddo, if it makes you happy, then what is there to be upset about?" Papa asked. "I have to make dinner, now. I think DiNozzo's coming over later, considering the case we just wrapped up, so be prepared. But know neither of us will make fun of you for this, all right?"

Timmy nodded. His stomach was still flipping as Papa ruffled his hair, and left the room. He glared at the doll for a few seconds. "Why did you have to do this?" he accused. "This is all your fault for being on sale. I wouldn't have considered buying you otherwise."

The doll, of course, didn't respond, and Timmy sighed, combing his fingers through her hair. "I'm lying to myself again, aren't I?" He tilted his head. "So, where were we all those years ago?"

In an instant, Timmy could pull up exactly where he and Sarah's doll were when they got interrupted, and now he could continue the story. Kit was on the brink of finding a big scoop, something that would land her in the local paper! The only problem was, the man who she was writing about had stolen her notes! She had to find them!

"Now, where could he have gone?" Timmy asked. "He couldn't get far, it's only been half an hour at most since he took them..."

"We should look over there!" Kit said, pointing to the toy chest.

Timmy went over to the toy chest, Kit in hand. He sifted through stuffed animals and journals and blocks and board games, but came no closer to finding the notebook. "Well, that was a bust," Timmy muttered, looking at Kit. "Where do you think we should look next?"

They searched the entire living room, and Timmy was on the brink of giving up, the illusion of the game fading away with the realization that this Kit might not have what Sarah's Kit had in terms of accessories. But then something on the table caught his eye, and he scrambled over, making a happy squeak of surprise when he saw a brand-new journal just like the one he had started the hunt for years ago!

He laughed and flapped his free hand, picking it up and handing it over to Kit. "Your notebook, miss," he said, the living room turning back into the living room from the city it had been for Kit to play in. There was noise coming from the kitchen, and Timmy was going to investigate when DiNozzo walked out. "Hey there, McDollface, finally coming back down to Earth after playing with your head in the clouds?"

Timmy's cheeks burned and he stuck his tongue out at DiNozzo. "You're just jealous 'cause I bought a new toy."

DiNozzo rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say. She's a cute doll. What's her name?"

"Kit," Timmy said. "Sarah had one just like her years ago, and I found her in a store today, so I got her."

"Cool," DiNozzo said, coming closer and sitting on the floor. "Didn't expect you to be the kind into dolls."

Timmy felt his face heat up even more. "Is it wrong?" he asked.

"Wrong? No way!" DiNozzo immediately assured. "If it makes you happy and it doesn't hurt anyone else then it's not wrong! I just thought you'd be more of an action-figure guy. Transformers, or whatever."

"Ohh," Timmy said. He shook his head. "Nope. I have more fun with these kinds of dolls than those ones. Those are the kind you gotta keep in the package if you want anything from them."

DiNozzo laughed. "Well, I think Gibbs is about done with dinner, you hungry?"

"Yeah!" Timmy said, putting Kit on the table and standing up. "After dinner maybe you could help me figure out an adventure for Kit to go on and record, she always loves new adventures!"

"Sounds great," DiNozzo said with a smile. "I'm happy that you're happy."

"I'm happy that you're happy that I'm happy," Timmy responded with a wicked grin.

"Well, I'm happy that you're happy that I'm happy that you're happy..."


	5. Introducing Nick and Alex

Bishop could feel that something was wrong. She couldn't put her finger on what it was, but as the team looked through the sewer tunnels, searching for evidence or a suspect or even any other lead, she had a horrible sense of danger that wasn't going away. She remained cautious as she looked down each and every possible entrance of an adversary, however nothing was forthcoming. McGee was somewhere ahead of her, and she could hear him panting into his earwig, "Boss, found a room that looks like it's been in recent use. I'm gonna check it out."

"Just be careful," Gibbs warned. "We don't know what our killer is capable of."

That warning made the hair on the back of Bishop's neck stand on end. There was silence from everyone as they continued their search...for about thirty seconds. Then there was a bang loud enough to shake some dirt loose from the ceiling. And it came from where McGee was supposed to be investigating.

Bishop's blood ran cold. She rushed forward, screw caution, her SFA needed to be okay! Her lungs burned as she reached the end of the corridor and came across a metal door, which looked like it lead into some sort of control room. It was slightly ajar, and she kicked it in, looking around. Well, looking around the best she could when there were florescent lights on after the only light source she had for an hour was her flashlight. It took her a few seconds to get used enough to the light to actually see what she was lookingat.

There was another metal door, and an opening on the opposite side of the room where it was supposed to reside. As it was, it was in the middle of the room, crumpled on the ground. Against the wall to her left, McGee sat on the floor, stunned into silence. Her entrance, though, made him start, and Bishop became alarmed as she realized there were tears forming in his eyes. Clearly, she wasn't going to be speaking anyone but Timmy. "Gibbs, I need you at my location. We have a situation," she said, pressing on her earwig.

She didn't wait for a response before approaching Timmy, turning the safety of her gun back on. She took out her earwig and when she was close enough, took Timmy's out as well, turning them both off. "Hey, sweetheart," she murmured. "Are you okay?"

"There...there was..." Timmy started, voice hoarse. "There was a kasplosion," he said, pointing to where the doorway without a door was. "I...I wen' to the door to...to make sure there was nothin' on the other side 'fore I opened it, and--" he shook his head, frowning. "There was...there was beepin'. An' it was loud and fast, so I backed up fast as I could away, but--"

"But what?" Bishop prompted. If Timmy was having problems with his words, he could have a concussion, and that would not be good.

"But...it happened anyway, an' the door flew in, an' the air made me fly too...an' I hit my head on the wall, an' it hurts!"

Bishop cooed sympathetically and squeezed Timmy's shoulder. "Aw, it's okay. We're gonna get out of here and get you checked out to make sure you didn't hurt your brain too much, and then we can go home and you can rest, sound good?"

Timmy frowned. "With Papa?"

Bishop glanced around nervously, suddenly very glad she had turned off the earwigs. If Torres and Quinn found out about their age regression because Timmy was hurt and couldn't keep his mouth shut, they could get reported because of false conclusions. "Yeah, but you can't call him that when Torres and Quinn are around, okay?"

Timmy looked at her like she had lost her mind, before it clicked, and his breathing picked up. Crap. Way to go, Ellie, you just made it worse. "'M not s'posed to be little?" he asked.

"Not in the field, which is where we are. But if we get you out of the field, then it's okay. We just have to get you there," Bishop reasoned.

Timmy didn't look calmer in the slightest. "Papa said I have to be big out here," he whisper-shouted. "An' my head hurts too much to do it!"

"Hey, hey, hey! Timmy, it's okay!" Bishop said, grabbing his cheeks and forcing his head to face her. "It's okay. You can't help it. You hit your head, in a place you don't know, while you're on high alert. Of course that's gonna throw you off your game. Gibbs'll understand that."

"The oth-others won't!" Timmy said, thoroughly freaked.

Bishop had hoped he wouldn't focus on that. "Well, the others don't have to see you. It can be just you, me, and Papa, all right?"

Timmy looked uncertain, but didn't get the chance to protest, as Gibbs rushed into the room from the same entrance the bomb had blown a hole through. "What happened?!" he asked.

"Someone heard the ticking of a bomb on the other side of the door, and got away from it fast enough to not get too hurt, but still got flung against the wall," Bishop said, nudging Timmy. "He wants to go home."

"I can understand why," Gibbs said dryly. "We gotta get you checked out first, though."

Timmy shook his head violently, blinking rapidly when he stopped, putting a hand to his head.

"Yes, we do," Gibbs insisted, glancing at Bishop.

Bishop mouthed, It's Timmy, and Gibbs tilted his chin up.

"No," Timmy said, more forceful than when he had spoken before. "Wanna go home. Can't see the others."

Gibbs knelt on one knee in front of Timmy, and put one hand on the boy's shoulder, another on his cheek. Bishop, not wanting to intrude on the moment, turned away toward the door she came through and found Quinn gawking into the room, wide-eyed, and Torres looking murderous. Bishop paled and turned her head towards Gibbs, while keeping an eye on the other agents. "Gibbs," she warned.

"Not now, Bishop," Gibbs said, before murmuring something to Timmy.

"Gibbs, I don't think this can wait."

The murmuring behind her stopped, to be replaced with a panicked hum from Timmy. She turned fully to make sure he was all right, and Gibbs began to wrap Timmy in a one-armed hug, but Torres rushed over and shoved Gibbs away. "Keep your hands off him!" Torres yelled.

Timmy yipped in surprise and Bishop winced as she saw his tears start to fall for the first time in this whole debacle. Gibbs stood up, brushed himself off, and glowered at Torres. "Excuse me?" he said, in the voice Bishop recognized as the last warning before someone got hurt.

"You. Do not. Touch him," Torres stated firmly. "Not anywhere."

Gibbs squinted, and Bishop took a step toward Timmy, in case things went nuclear. "Last I checked, you were not the one in charge here."

Torres growled. "You are not taking advantage of him! You're 'help' is going to do more damage than good!"

Well, that was an odd turn of phrase. Why would he...The metaphorical lightbulb lit up over Bishop's head, and she stared at Torres in horror. "Woah, no! Nick, Gibbs would never sleep with Tim! Or have a relationship with him, for that matter! He was trying to calm Tim down! You know, ground him?"

Torres didn't even glance in her direction. "I've seen that lost look in people's eyes," he said. "I know when someone isn't in any state to consent. To anything. And until he has his wits about him, you aren't touching him!"

"Or what?" Gibbs scoffed.

"Or I tell Vance that you're trying to initiate a BDSM relationship with your SFA," Torres stated.

Gibbs blinked, and tilted his head to the side slightly. "You think...I'm trying...to have sex. With an agent who is having a panic attack."

Torres stood his ground. "I've seen similar enough times undercover. Sure, you may think you're okay, but all I've ever seen come out of that sort of relationship is abuse."

Timmy was shaking behind Torres, tears falling rapidly, and Bishop couldn't stop the horror she felt at seeing first-hand that Timmy knew how to cry silently. The boy ducked around Torres and attached himself to Gibbs' leg. Gibbs' face softened as he looked down at Timmy. "Well, he seems to want me to help," he said benignly to Torres. Then, to Timmy, "C'mon, kiddo. Up."

When Timmy didn't respond immediately, Gibbs sighed and picked up Timmy himself. He glanced at Bishop, before returning his focus to Torres. "Bishop, if you could show the others the way out, I'm going to be busy."

Bishop nodded and Gibbs left the room via the back. Torres made to follow him but Bishop blocked his way. "Not a good idea," she said. "Trust me on this one."

Torres looked out the door, then looked back at her. "If anything happens to Tim while he's alone with...him, that's on you," he growled.

Bishop felt queasy at the thought. "Nothing's gonna happen," she assured him.

Quinn joined in the attack. "Hold on a minute, you knew about this? And you didn't tell anyone?!"

"Who was I gonna tell? Who would believe me? And if it's harmless, why would I tell anyone?" Bishop retorted, making her way out of the door she entered from, turning on her flashlight.

Torres and Quinn followed her out, which she was thankful for, but she could have done without the questions. "Harmless?! Do you know how many people in one drug ring I worked in had these sorts of relationships that ended horribly?" Torres asked.

"Not to mention that Gibbs is playing favorites if he's in a relationship with McGee. For all we know, he could be praising McGee to high heaven in his reports and leaving us out to dry!" Quinn added.

"I took down far too many people for domestic abuse because of this sort of thing only to be stopped by one agent who is unwittingly letting another be abused on the same team!"

"How could you know that this was happening and not tell anyone? I thought that on this team we were supposed to share our concerns?"

Bishop grit her teeth and kept walking, but by the time she had reached the door leading to the outside world, she was close to crying herself. When she played over at Gibbs' house as Ellie, there wasn't any abuse involved...or was there? Was she being manipulated without even knowing it? No, she couldn't believe Gibbs would do that to her. Torres didn't understand what age regression was, and was misinforming Quinn. There was nothing wrong with what they were doing.

...And she was going to tell herself that until she believed it again.

The others followed her all the way back to the van, where Timmy was sitting with a blanket draped around his shoulders and a juice box in hand as Ducky completed a check-up on him. Gibbs took one look at her and lead her to the front, glaring at the other two to make them stay put. "What did they say?" Gibbs nearly growled.

"Nothing," Bishop said. Much as she hated Quinn and Torres' questions, Gibbs could explain what they did and everything would be fine, he didn't need to know what Quinn and Torres were saying on the way back.

"So they said absolutely nothing to make you cry?" Gibbs asked.

Bishop felt her cheeks heat up as she realized she hadn't noticed her tears start to fall. "They just...nnn," she whined. "They said that you were abusing Timmy and playing favorites and that you should be locked up and fired for domestic abuse and gross misconduct and a bunch of other stuff and..."

"Hey," Gibbs cut her off, voice gentle. "That's not true, you know that, right? I always make sure you two are comfortable with everything I do. We set up rules while you're an adult, and don't adjust them no matter what when you're small. I would never knowingly and willingly hurt any of you, including Quinn and Torres. Let me explain it to them, okay?"

"I doubt they'll listen to you," Ellie said. "They're convinced you're tryin' to hurt us."

Daddy grimaced. "They're gonna need more convincing than Kate or Fornell," he sighed. "Hopefully not too much more. Maybe we can get Ducky to vouch for us."

Ellie looked between where Torres and Quinn were, and Daddy. She looked back to find an absence of Torres and Quinn. She ran to the back of the van, Daddy hot on her heels, to find Torres and Quinn badgering Timmy with questions. Timmy, looking thoroughly overwhelmed, was trying to get away from the back of the truck, but wasn't doing a good job of it, because whenever he'd try to get up, either Quinn or Torres would sit him back down on the edge of the van. Ellie's blood boiled. "Leave him alone!" she screeched, pulling Torres back and away from Timmy and shoving Quinn backwards. "His personal life is none of your business!"

"Ellie," Daddy warned. "That's not going to fix anything."

A sharp retort was already on her tongue but Timmy pulled her up on the back of the van with him, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing them. "Best not," he whispered. "That's what Uncle Ducky said too."

Ellie sulked, no matter what Quinn and Torres thought. "They can't do that to you," she stated. "They can't."

Timmy gave her shoulders another squeeze. She rolled her eyes and nudged him with her shoulder. "Stop trying to make me feel better," she weakly protested. "It's not fair."

"No," Timmy said, laughing a little. "Ducky said I have a concussion, you know what that means?"

Ellie looked over at him. "You get off work?"

Timmy nodded. "An' someone has to look after me. So 'm goin' to Papa's. An' so can you."

Ellie looked away sharply, both at the thought of going to Daddy's and the fact that Torres and Quinn now knew that she did this too. Against her better judgement, she glanced over at Torres and Quinn. Torres' anger at her had been completely replaced with what looked like concern. Quinn just looked stunned. Daddy looked completely lost, and Ellie couldn't blame him. This entire situation was completely out of control. "Nick," she said softly. "Have you heard of age regression?"

Torres looked at her like she was crazy. "...Yes...?"

"'S not what you were talkin' 'bout," she said. "'S not sexual. Ever. Not even romantic. 'Kay?"

Torres looked away, then back at her. "I...I didn't know. Uh. Sorry?"

"Wait," Quinn said, raising her hand. "I'm a little lost here. So no one is in a relationship with anyone?"

"Of course not," Daddy asserted. "Not when they're regressed. That's a big no-no. When they're not, they're certainly not in a relationship with me."

"But...what is this, anyway?"

"Therapy," Timmy and Ellie said at the same time. "'S acting like a kid, so that we don' have to worry," Timmy continued. "Papa watches our six for us."

"How often is this a...thing?" Torres asked.

"As often as they need it," Daddy said. "And you're welcome to join, if you like. Everyone on the team gets a chance."

Quinn looked a little interested, while Torres just looked uncomfortable. "How...uh, how old?" he asked.

"Lowest we've ever reached is probably a little before one with either Tony or Timmy. Highest is probably...seventeen, very close to eighteen, actually, with...an extended family member," Daddy said.

Torres relaxed some, and Ellie looked over to Timmy. "Definitely older, and he knows it," she whispered.

Timmy nodded back. "If he doesn' try to boss me around, we'll be fine."

Ellie turned away and grinned. The chance of that happening was probably slim to none.

"I'm in," Quinn said.

"So am I, I guess," Torres said noncommittally.

Daddy nodded. "Dinner's at seven, don't be late," he told them. "Expect to be over for the night, I doubt these two will let you leave."

"It's true," Ellie laughed, while Timmy grinned innocently.

"So, this is really happening?" Quinn asked. "Were you ever going to tell us otherwise?"

"Eventually, most likely," Daddy said. "After Fornell and Kate walked in on Tony and I, we decided it was easier to just warn everyone beforehand."

Timmy gave a lopsided grin. "Still remember my first chance. Couldn't look up from the ground for a solid fifteen minutes."

"I nearly bit Tony," Ellie offered. "I think that's worse."

Timmy laughed. "I forgot about that!"

"He sure didn't," Ellie grinned. "Never let me live it down."

Daddy cleared his throat. "I need to take you kids home, before anyone who doesn't know gets curious, all right? You can keep reminiscing away from the doors."

"Actually, go up to the grate and keep talking," Torres said. "I want to know what to expect."

"That goes double for me," Quinn said, heading to the front of the truck.

Ellie backed up into the truck with Timmy, and Daddy closed the doors. "Feeling better?" she asked him.

He nodded. "A little. D'you think we're really going to get a brother and sister?"

Ellie shrugged, butterflies in her stomach. "I dunno. I hope so."


	6. Fight Club

McGee watched Gibbs pace the bullpen with uncertainty. It was just the two of them there right now, while Bishop and Quinn were coming back from chasing a lead and Torres was with Abby. The younger man opened his mouth to speak but Gibbs held up a finger.

Torres walked in to the bullpen, took one look at Gibbs and immediately gravitated toward McGee. "What's going on?"

McGee held a finger to his lips and shrugged.

Gibbs continued pacing. Torres glanced between the two senior agents. "Is this weirding you out at all?"

"A little. He's been doing it ever since he got off the phone with Bishop," McGee whispered back.

Gibbs stopped pacing and focused on Torres. "Torres. C'mere."

Torres looked at McGee questioningly. McGee just shrugged again. The man walked over to Gibbs, who didn't feign discreetness when he asked, "Did you mean what you said when you talked about putting McGee on a leash?"

McGee choked on thin air and Torres had the decency to look somewhat ashamed. "Too far?" he asked.

"Not an answer to my question," Gibbs replied.

"It was a joke, I didn't mean anything by it."

Gibbs looked over at McGee. "McGee. Would you ever let yourself be put on one?"

McGee turned scarlet and sank low in his seat. "I may have experience in that area," he muttered, glancing away.

"What's this about?" Torres asked.

"Bishop said that nothing in their interviews revealed anything, and that means the evidence we need is somewhere in the club while it's in use. That's the only way no one would have seen anything," Gibbs explained. "So we need someone, or someones to go undercover."

"In a BDSM place?" Torres asked. "That's not really my scene, boss."

"Make it yours. Both of you," Gibbs ordered. "At least for tonight."

Torres arched his eyebrows. "But won't people be able to tell we're not enjoying it?"

McGee, still thoroughly scarlet, groaned as Gibbs replied, "I think McGee will enjoy it enough for the both of you."

Torres looked at McGee in amusement. "You fantasize about being lead around on a leash by a guy?"

"I'm ace, I don't really fantasize about any gender." McGee cringed as he added, "But the leash part sounds fun."

Torres cackled. "So...so I'll definitely be doing the leading, then? I'm keeping Bad Cop back?"

"Please, shut up," McGee pleaded. "Let's just get back to work."

Gibbs arched an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want that, McGee?"

McGee nodded vehemently.

Gibbs smirked. "Good. Go down to Abby, she'll get the both of you fitted for your outfits tonight."

Torres grinned. "Oh, this is gonna be good," he chuckled.

* * *

"Okay, so...leather or metal?" Abby asked McGee once she heard the situation.

Torres laughed as McGee turned red again at Abby's question. "Abby!" he hissed.

"It's important to know, Tim!" Abby insisted.

McGee squirmed. "But you know my answer!" he whispered.

"You know you might have changed your mind since then," Abby argued, smiling.

Torres and Abby both looked at McGee, sitting on Abby's desk, expectantly. The man buried his face in his hands. "Leather," he mumbled.

Abby patted his shoulder. "Was that so hard?" she asked. "Now, let's talk color!"

Torres whistled. "Do you have hot pink?"

McGee's head shot up.

Abby grinned. "Oh, that would go so well with his blush!" she gushed.

"No! No, you are not putting me in hot pink bondage gear!" McGee said. "Not happening!"

"Well, what would you like then?" Abby asked.

"I..." McGee stopped. "I have a preference for black or red..."

"Black, then," Abby said. "Red is very flashy in this sort of club."

"Fine!" McGee grumbled, crossing his arms. He blinked. "Hang on. Why would you need to know--"

"Oh, don't worry, I'm finding this very educational," Torres teased. "It's research for the role."

"I hate all of you," McGee grumbled as Abby approached him with a tape measure.

"Hold still," Abby instructed. "I need to know what size to get you from unclaimed but cleared evidence. Unless you have your own?"

McGee scoffed. "Okay, that's definitely prying. Truth be told, I don't like either of my options here."

Abby stared at him for half a second before gasping. "History! Oh gosh, Tim, I'm so so sorry! I just got caught in the moment!"

McGee shrugged. "Don't worry about it."

Torres looked between them curiously, but didn't say anything. A fact that McGee was thankful for. "So, when you do these things, if you still do these things, what do you use?" Abby asked.

"Fabric or rope, mostly," McGee said. "Things that don't have those memories attached."

Abby nodded. "Okay, we can use those materials instead, no worries! Let's see if we can use one of my chokers, so Vance doesn't ask why we're buying bondage gear with tax payers' money."

McGee nodded uncomfortably. He didn't want to show any excitement about this; he was embarrassed enough. But despite that, he still felt a little thrill at the thought of the pressure around his neck a choker would produce. It helped him feel grounded in a way he found hard to explain.

Abby went to a cabinet in the back of her office and returned with an understated black strip of stretchy fabric with a gold loop in front that had space for an ID tag to be attached. "This work?"

"If it fits," McGee said, scarlet coloring returning full force.

"Let's put it on and see," Abby said, offering the collar to McGee.

"Wait, wait, wait," Torres said, snatching it from Abby's grasp. "I'm supposed to be in charge tonight, right? So I need to know how to put this on him. Meaning I should learn now."

McGee groaned. "Really? Really?! You're just milking the situation at this point!"

"Yup," Torres said, wrapping the collar around McGee's neck and clasping it. "Oh, it fits perfectly!"

"I hate you," McGee grumbled, but he didn't take the collar off.

Gibbs walked in the back office, looking McGee up and down. "Missing something," he said.

"What?" McGee asked, dreading the answer.

Gibbs reached into his pocket and pulled out a headband with cat ears. Torres cackled again as McGee paled. "That's not...I'm not a..."

"We need somewhere to put the bug, McGee," Gibbs said, putting the ears on McGee's head. "No one would think to look there."

McGee felt the fake ears. "Why does it have to be a cat, though?" he almost-whined.

Gibbs chuckled and walked out, calling, "Do you honestly think you could pass for a dog, McGee?"

McGee sulked, slouching where he sat. Abby pet his head. "Chin up, Tim! It's Nick's turn!"

Torres' smile dropped and McGee perked up. "Oh, nevermind, then!" he exclaimed, grabbing the tape measure.

* * *

McGee waited in line outside of the nondescript brick building with Torres, glancing around, nerves frayed. "This is not a good idea," he muttered. "This is a very, very bad idea."

"Easy, McGee," Torres muttered. "This is fine. You've done this stuff before, I've done this stuff before, we're going to be fine."

"But Gibbs insisted I had to be a kitten," McGee whispered. "What if I go little?"

"I think Gibbs is banking on that," Torres replied. "Make you fit in."

"If I go little, I won't be able to do anything!" the older man hissed. "We'll have to leave and we won't get what we need!"

"Well then don't go little," Torres muttered, smiling as they approached the bouncer outside the building.

The bouncer looked between the two of them. "We don't allow cops," he snarled.

"Easy," Torres purred, slipping into his role seamlessly. "Feds need time to unwind, too. We aren't here for anything but pleasure."

Recognition flashed across the bouncer's face. "Say...I've seen you two before. Isn't he your boss?" he asked, pointing to McGee.

"Not in the off hours," Torres laughed.

The bouncer laughed with him. "All right, all right, you're cool. C'mon in."

McGee scowled at Torres once they were inside. "Seriously?" he asked.

Torres grinned. "All part of the role, man. Lighten up a little!"

The club looked different when it was open. On the catwalk housing the entrance that overlooked the main floor, the club seemed to be cut into three uneven pieces. On one side of the club was a thin strip where a bar was set up and already busy. Close to the stairs that connected the catwalk to the floor, there were tables where people were chatting each other up. The rest of the floor was taken up by people yelling with a ring in the center of the crowd where two people were circling each other. A chant rose to the ceiling like the beat of a pulse: "Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!"

"Well, we know what killed our petty officer," McGee said grimly. "Fight club."

Torres nodded as he walked down the stairs to get a better look. "But which one of them killed him is--oh, sorry."

The latter statement was caused by McGee gagging on the choker which was attached to a lead Torres had forgotten he was holding. It had tightened the offending fabric on McGee's neck until he could barely get air in. McGee gulped fresh oxygen as he forcibly loosened the choker around his neck just enough to breathe. He shook his head. "'S fine," he gasped.

Torres looked at his skeptically but nodded, and both of them went down the stairs this time, with Torres leading the way.

They walked to the bar and Torres took a seat, while McGee stood and looked around the crowd. Any one of these people could have murdered Petty Officer Melton, and he had to figure out who exactly quickly so they could leave and never come back.

Torres tapped McGee's shoulder and held out a sippy cup with water. "Hey. You need to drink something during all this," he reminded.

McGee growled in annoyance but took the cup. "Is the lid really necessary? It's humiliating."

"You don't complain about it at home," Torres said, a warning tone in his voice. "You want to come here, you convince me to come here with you, you play your part. Drink it."

McGee's grip on the cup tightened. "You're not the boss of me," he snapped, falling into his headspace as he said the words.

There was a crowd starting to form around them, and people were murmuring. Torres looked mad, and maybe he was a little, but Timmy knew this was part of "The Act," and he wouldn't really get punished for being stubborn.

"This is not a negotiation," Torres ground out. "You drink it or you will be punished."

Timmy wondered exactly how much he could get away with here, and decided against throwing the cup against the wall or across the room. He did, however, slam it into the floor as hard as he could. "Fight me!" Timmy said defiantly.

Torres gave Timmy a you're pushing it look as he bent down to pick up the cup. He calmly put it on the bar and turned to Timmy. "We do not throw things, Timothy," he scolded.

"Toss him in the ring," the bartender suggested. "He'll be sorry in no time. This guy who's in there now, he's been undefeated for the past week."

That was within the time the petty officer had been killed! That made this guy a prime suspect! All they needed to do was get a picture of him and they could go! Timmy looked to Torres, only to find the man looking at the crowd surrounding the ring, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know what, I will," he said, dragging Timmy away by the leash.

Timmy swallowed as the crowd let them through. "N-Nick?" he asked worriedly.

Torres didn't reply.

They got to the edge of the ring and Timmy saw the man the bartender was talking about. He was big. And mean. And glaring right at him. "N-no! D-don't make me go in there! I'm--I'm sorry! I d-d-didn't mean it!"

Torres undid the leash and shoved Timmy in the last few feet. The boy looked around wildly for an escape, but there was no way out of this. The pulse began low, and increased in intensity. "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

The man in the ring with him rushed forward and Timmy scurried out of the way. He ran to the edges of the ring, looking for Torres, who had melted into the crowd. His opponent charged again, punching Timmy square in the jaw.

Spots danced in Timmy's vision, and the boy found himself on all fours, blood trickling down his chin. Blood that must have come from the edge of a busted lip. He pushed himself up to his feet, only to get a punch to the gut and he crumpled to the floor again. He heaved up nothing, and panted heavily, heat travelling all up and down his body. His opponent laughed. "Little kitten's no match for the big dogs! Go back home to your owner, I'm sure he'll drown you in a bag, put you out of your misery quicker!"

Timmy struggled to his feet again, to get kicked in the knee. He whimpered as he fell again. "Your father must be disappointed for raising such a loser," the man said.

Timmy felt the fear in his body melt away into red-hot anger, and he stood up again, teeth bared. "Maybe, but he's dead now, so what he thinks doesn't really matter, now does it?!" he snapped back, landing a left hook straight to the man's temple.

His opponent fell to the floor like a load of bricks. "How would you feel," Timmy said, kicking the man in the stomach. "If your father," kick. "Abused you," kick. "And left you," kick. "For dead?!"

There were several more kicks until he felt he had gotten his point across, and he dared look down at the floor, at the bloody mess that was their prime suspect, and Timmy's gut wrenched sideways in the way that told him he might get sick. He turned away to the other end of the ring, as the crowd went up in a combination of cheers and outrage. Several people reached for his collar, none of them Torres. All around, people were arguing about who to send in the ring next. Timmy fell to his knees at the uproar and felt tears coming to his eyes. Someone wrapped their arms around him and yelled, "No!"

The crowd went silent. Timmy looked up to find Torres checking him over. The man turned to the crowd. "He's done. He's learned his lesson, he's not fighting anymore."

Torres got Timmy to his feet and led the boy back through the crowd and to the bathrooms off to the side. Once there, Timmy dropped to the floor against the wall and assumed the fetal position. "I-I c-c-could h-have k-killed him..." Timmy whispered.

"Hey, you didn't," Torres said, kneeling in front of the boy. "He was still breathing. They'll move him out of harm's way and tomorrow he could get checked up at a clinic, probably. You were fighting to stay safe."

Timmy shook his head side to side, as the rest of his body trembled. "I...I wan-ed to hurt him. Bad, Nick. I wan-ed to hurt him bad."

"The fact that you didn't do more is an act of great strength on your part, kid. You're okay." Nick reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the sippy cup from before. "Take a drink, take some deep breaths. We can get out of here once you can walk, I got a picture of our guy before he attacked you."

Timmy took the cup tentatively and sucked at the opening. The water soothed his throat, which was desert dry, though he hadn't noticed before. He drank half the cup before putting it down and slowing his breathing to a somewhat normal, albeit deep, pattern.

Torres smiled encouragingly. "Hey, there we go. You'll be fine in no time."

A man who was the definition of hired muscle walked into the bathroom. "Boss wants to see the kid who beat up his champion," he grunted. "Up. I'll show the both of you to the office."

Timmy looked at Torres in panic. Torres just helped him to his feet and held his hand all the way to the back. The guy closed the door to the office, and the noise from outside cut to nothing. From what Timmy could make out in the dimly lit space, there was one hired muscle (most likely a bodyguard) at the door, and another standing by the desk. In a chair behind the desk, he assumed, was the brains behind the operation, who was looking at him closely. That bad man then turned to Torres. "It appears that your kitten has beaten my prized fighter. While that is admirable, I do feel you had a bit of an unfair advantage, seeing as you're both undercover cops."

Timmy's eyes widened and he involuntarily took a step back. The man at the door pushed him to the ground until he was kneeling. Torres scoffed. "Us? Undercover cops? Sure, we're feds, but we're not here to take down your operation, man. We're here to unwind, blow off steam!"

The bad man laughed. "I don't believe you for one second, but I'm feeling generous tonight, so I'm telling you what's going to happen. I am going to have the little kit here for myself. He can fight for me a couple nights a week in the arena, and in exchange I'll make sure he's fed and given water, and in general taken care of. You will be taken out of the picture, seeing as how a kitten only needs one owner and I don't need cops sullying my reputation. Sure, we might have to go underground for a week or two, but soon enough we'll be back," he explained. "It's all quite simple, really."

"No way am I letting you take him," Nick said, stepping forward.

Cold metal touched the back of Timmy's neck and he gasped out a whimper. Torres turned to him in concern and he froze when he saw what was behind Timmy. It didn't take much to figure out it was either a knife or a gun.

The hired muscle by the bad man walked forward and escorted Torres out of the room. Torres struggled to stay, but the grip on his arm was too strong and he was thrown out of the office. Timmy was alone.

And little.

In the middle of a crime ring.

"Come here, kitten," the bad man growled.

Timmy whimpered, but slowly crawled around the bad man's desk until he was kneeling next to the man, head bowed and eyes trained on the ground. He didn't like where this was headed, he knew all too well what could happen when bad men were alone with little boys. He found himself being picked up and placed on the man's lap, much to his shock. A bottle was held in front of him and he inched away from it, pulling a face. "Looks like the kitten thinks he's a big boy, boss," one of the bodyguards chuckled.

The bottle was shoved in front of Timmy's face, along with a loaded gun. "Which would you rather eat, kit?" the bad man growled.

Slowly, Timmy latched onto the bottle and sucked on it. He didn't like this; he was in deep trouble and prone to going littler than he normally did out of stress. He didn't want to be so little he couldn't do anything, but it looked like he was headed in that direction.

Halfway through the bottle, there was the sound of gunshots outside, and Timmy quickly reached up to cover his ears and whimpered. He didn't like gunshots, or lots of loud noises. They made him think he was in trouble when he really wasn't. The bad man put the gun down and stroked Timmy's hair. "Ssh, kit. They won't hurt you."

Timmy hoped that was true. The door into the back office was opened, and in stepped none other but Director Vance. Timmy was mortified, but couldn't do more than continue to cover his ears because of the amplified noise of gunshots outside. The man was immediately put in line of sight of the two grunts, who freely pointed their weapons at Vance. He hardly noticed; his attention focused solely on Timmy. The bad man stopped stroking the back of Timmy's head and instead twisted his hair in a vice grip. "Keep drinking, kit."

Miserably, Timmy followed instructions. He hadn't even realized he had stopped drinking in his shock. His ears burned and he couldn't look Vance in the eye. He knew. The man now knew that he did this, and there was no coming back from that. His eyes stung. Vance raised his weapon at the bad man. "And just what do you think you're doing to my agent?" he growled.

"Just what he wants done to him," the man replied casually. "Well, mostly. I can tell that he's not quite used to being a kit, rather than a boy, but he'll warm up to the role soon enough in my house."

"You're not taking him anywhere," Vance said.

Timmy finished the bottle and the man stuck a pacifier in his mouth just as he was trying to breathe. Timmy whined and the man shushed him. "Silence, kit. The adults are talking."

Vance looked down at Timmy and the boy just about wanted to die. "Agent McGee, are you all right?"

Timmy didn't respond, though he took his hands off his ears slowly as he realized there weren't any more gunshots.

"I don't see an Agent McGee here, do you, kit?" the bad man asked.

Timmy didn't respond to that either.

"I'm taking that as a no," the bad man laughed. "It's just me and my new kit."

The stinging behind Timmy's eyes got worse and a lump formed in his throat behind the collar that was forced too tight around his neck. He wished that Adult-Him had never agreed to this.

"Agent McGee, I need an answer," Vance said calmly. "Are you hurt? Tim?"

Timmy closed his eyes and subtly shook his head. A few tears slipped out without his permission and his ears just got redder. All he wanted right now was to go home with Papa and maybe drink some hot chocolate. He wanted out of this collar, he wanted to go home, he wanted to be little in a safe space, rather than surrounded by bad men and his adult self's boss' boss.

"See? He's just fine," the bad man said, resuming the stroking of Timmy's hair. "You can run along, now, I'll make sure he hands in his resignation soon enough, so he can always be my little kit."

Vance took a step forward and the bad man pointed the gun he had to Timmy's head. "Ah, ah, ah. I would. I don't think you want to risk it."

Timmy whimpered and squeezed his eyes as tight as they could go. He was panicking, he couldn't breathe with this pacifier in his mouth and his shoulders shook and it was clear to everyone he was breaking down. All he wanted was Papa. Where was he?! He said he would be right here!

"Agent McGee, I need you take deep breaths. We're going to get you out of this. Deep breaths, Tim."

Vance's voice just made Timmy's anxiety worse. Vance was treating him like an adult, something he definitely was not at the moment. If Papa were here, he'd know what to do. But Papa wasn't here. It was just the bad men and a scary man who was trying to help him in all the wrong ways. "Open your eyes, kit," the bad man growled.

Timmy opened them but kept them trained on the floor. He couldn't look anyone in the eye like this sniveling mess. "What did you drug him with?" Vance asked.

"Nothing," the bad man said, and Timmy could hear his grin. "All I did was give him some milk in the office. He might've had some water out on the floor, couldn't tell. Neither of those things are spiked, though."

"If they're not spiked then why would Agent McGee--"

"How many times do I have to tell you, Fed," the bad man laughed. "This isn't Agent McGee."

Timmy felt like he was going to be sick. He needed the bad man to shut up, to not give away his biggest secret any more than it already had been. But he couldn't tell the bad man to shut up, or he might get hit, or more likely and much much worse, shot. He saw movement behind Vance, and looked up, finding Papa standing in the doorway, bulletproof vest on and gun in hand. Timmy whined and reached out to him, making grabby hands. Screw any dignity he had left, he wanted his papa! "Oh," the bad man said, suddenly pleased. "See someone you recognize, kit?"

Vance turned to see Papa in the doorway. "Ah, Gibbs. Maybe you can explain why Agent McGee is acting so strangely?"

Papa walked into the room, shouldering past Vance. Timmy continued the hand motion and whined when Papa stopped getting closer. The bad man bounced Timmy slightly and Timmy saw Papa's jaw clench. He felt incredibly calmed by the fact that the bad man was gonna get it as soon as Timmy was out of harm's way. "Who is that, kit?" the bad man asked.

Timmy didn't respond, just leaned forward and whined again as arms held him tightly around the waist, preventing him from moving. "Who is that?" the man pressed.

"Tim," Papa warned. "Don't answer him."

The bad man's grip tightened around Timmy's waist, to the point of being uncomfortable. "Who is that?"

Timmy whimpered and tried squirming into a better position, without success. He looked desperately at Papa, who was clearly angry at the bad man, but wasn't moving to do anything. Papa just subtly shook his head.

The man squeezed Timmy's midsection hard enough to cause Timmy to gasp, and the pacifier to fall out of his mouth. Well, now he was mad. And he knew just how to make the bad man hurt, like Nick had taught him. He turned to the bad man and made a come closer motion with his hand. The man grinned triumphantly and leaned his ear close to Timmy's mouth, at which point Timmy bellowed, "That's my Papa!" before smashing his elbow into the man's nose and then to his gut, using the loosened grip around his waist to twist out of the man's lap and onto the floor.

Papa rushed around to the chair and hoisted the bad man up out of it and slammed him onto the desk, cuffing him. Timmy peered over the desk to see Vance pointing his gun at the body guards, who had their hands up in surrender. He ducked behind the desk again when Vance glanced over, and looked up at Papa. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Well, I'll have some explaining to do to Vance, but the important thing is that you're safe," Papa said, leaning down and taking off the cat ears headband Timmy had forgotten he had on. "Let's go outside, I can get that collar off you and we can get you home, sound good?"

Timmy nodded and stood up with a hand from Papa, and followed him outside, where he was swarmed by his teammates, especially Nick. They were all asking him questions at once, which died once they saw Vance exit the nightclub behind him. "Hermanito, something tells me you have some explaining to do to Vance," Nick whispered to Timmy.

Timmy looked back to find Vance staring at him, and he turned around again quickly. "'M not big enough," he said.

Vance walked over regardless. "Tim. Ambulance. Now."

"Why?" Timmy asked, confused as to why this would be Vance's first line of thought.

"Drug test," Vance said simply.

Timmy blinked but nodded and walked over to the ambulance waiting at the curb of the street. Vance followed behind and said to the paramedics. "I need blood work run on this man, as well as checks for any superficial or internal injuries. It's likely that he's been drugged."

Granted, Timmy felt a little heady but he didn't think that he was drugged. The paramedics sat him down in the ambulance though and started asking him questions. "What's your name?" a nice woman asked.

"...Tim," Timmy said.

"Nice name. Tell me Tim. Are you feeling nauseous at all?"

"A little, yeah," Timmy said, nodding.

"Do you feel detached from reality at all? Or numb?"

"Maybe a little, and I don't think so..."

"Tell me. About what time do you think it is?"

"Uh..." Timmy had no idea. "11?"

"Actually, it's closer to 2 in the morning. My money is that something you put in your mouth was laced with a dissociative drug. Considering this part of town, probably ketamine. We'll need to take a urine sample to be sure, though."

Timmy frowned. "I...I don't have to go..."

"Not right now, the drug won't be processed in your bloodstream for another few hours. I'll have your boss order a drug test tomorrow morning. No poppy seeds for breakfast, okay? That brings up a false positive for opioids."

Timmy nodded. He knew a little bit about this stuff. The paramedic took his blood to be safe, wrote down a few instructions, told him to not try to drive home on his own, and sent him on his way. He walked back into the club parking lot and went straight over to Papa. "What'd they tell you, kid?" he asked.

"Probably ketamine," he said, waving the sheet of paper he was given. "This's for you."

Papa took it and looked it over. "A drug test? Well, at least they won't think you took whatever it is you had voluntarily."

Timmy nodded and yawned. "I wanna go home," he murmured.

"Vance wants to speak to you," Papa warned.

"'M drugged," Timmy said with a small laugh. "I don' think he'll get much sense outta me tonight."

Papa sniffed a laugh. "True. How about I take you home, and we have some hot chocolate, after I tell Vance where we're going?"

Timmy nodded and yawned again. "Don't fall asleep where you're standing," Papa teased. "I'll be right back."

* * *

The next day McGee walked up to Vance's office with no small amount of dread. Much to his chagrin, when he had woken up this morning he knew exactly what had happened the night before, and hadn't come up with a plausible excuse to tell Vance. Gibbs had gone the "the kid was drugged, Leon," route, but McGee knew he needed an explanation for why he'd call Gibbs Papa whilst doped up.

He walked into the waiting room and was immediately rushed into Vance's office, making McGee's mouth go dry. "McGee," Vance said, gesturing to the conference table. "Have a seat."

The man swallowed and sat down at one of the chairs in the middle, clearing his throat. Vance sat down in a the chair to the right of his. "I take it from your expression you remember the events of last night?"

"Most of them, sir, yes," McGee muttered, blushing.

"Then you can probably anticipate some of my next questions, and understand they are out of a place of concern," Vance said.

McGee swallowed and nodded. "I just took the drug test, the samples are being sent down to Abby as we speak. Sir, I don't have a good reason for what happened last night." He cringed at his own words, knowing how pathetic he sounded.

"Agent McGee...Tim," Vance said softly. "You joined Gibbs' team when you were only a probationary agent. You were young and impressionable, and if anything were to have happened during that time--"

"What?! No," McGee said quickly. "Director, there is not, nor ever was, and never will be anything sexual between me and Agent Gibbs. Nothing romantic, either. Like I said, I don't have a good reason for what happened last night."

Vance clasped his hands together and sighed. "Well, give it your best shot, because I need to give an explanation to HR when someone hears the recordings from the bug and starts asking around."

"I..." McGee faltered. "You were right when you said I was impressionable when I joined Gibbs' team. I was eager to please, though not so eager as to do what you were suggesting, not that Agent Gibbs ever gave off any signals in that direction. Rather, I saw Gibbs to be the father I never had."

Vance looked at McGee with interest. "Go on..." he prompted.

McGee took a breath. "It all sounds ridiculous, but you've met my father. He was never the loving type in the way that I needed when I was younger. He groomed me more than he actually expressed concern over my well-being. I saw Agent Gibbs and while I saw pieces of my father, I also saw a man who was willing to take people under their wing and help them grow, not by grooming, but by genuine teaching and concern."

Vance snorted. "Gibbs must have toughened up significantly since you've been here, or else you got a rude shock when you joined."

McGee smirked. "It was the latter, for sure. That didn't deter me, though. I still saw him as a father figure, even as it became clear he was to be my new boss. I just...I don't know. I thought I had grown out of that phase years ago, but I guess I was wrong."

"Or the drugs made you confused, and in your desperation for some sense of security, you latched onto old habits," Vance said. "That's presentable to HR. I do have one question though: 'Papa'?"

McGee shrugged. "My thinking at the time I looked up to Gibbs as a father was that 'Daddy' had especially bad connotations to it, to the point where if I had said it last night, we wouldn't be having this conversation, and 'Dad' was what I called my biological father. And Gibbs didn't give me the impression that he would instruct his kids to call him 'father,' either. Which left Papa." McGee shrugged. "No real meaning behind it other than pragmatism."

Vance nodded. "Did Gibbs know about this?"

"I don't know if he did, but if he didn't, he does now," McGee groaned. "And if he tells the team, I'm sure I'll never hear the end of it."

Vance chuckled. "Well, I certainly won't tell them, and I doubt Gibbs would either, but you'd have to explain why you came up here this morning."

McGee sighed. "I know. That doesn't mean I have any ideas for an explanation, though."

Vance shrugged and stood, prompting McGee to stand as well. "That I'm afraid I can't help you with. Thank you for clearing this up, Tim."

McGee shook the man's hand and nodded. "It wasn't a problem, Director. I'm glad we could sort everything out."

Vance led McGee out and he walked back down to the bullpen, sitting back in his chair with a sigh. Not thirty seconds later he was hit with a wadded ball of paper, and he glared over at Torres. "What?" he snapped.

"'Your Papa' wants to see you down in Abby's lab," Torres said with no small amount of glee in his voice. "Better hurry if you don't want a spanking."

McGee blushed and stood, throwing the paper back at Torres. "Say that again and I'll make you wish Gibbs was dealing with you. I know the wi-fi password at his house."

He could hear Torres laughing the whole way to the elevator. He really wished he hadn't gone undercover. It was never a good idea.


	7. A FInale

Gibbs was in pain. He knew that was to be expected with being shot, but it didn't make everything any easier. McGee was hovering over him, insisting that he had to stay with him, and Bishop, and Torres, but Gibbs knew it was too late. The ambulance wouldn't make it in time. He had to accept that. He knew the others were going to take it hard, but McGee would be an excellent SSA with a little practice, and maybe NCIS would work a little easier without Gibbs breaking down doors and causing lawyers to get all uppity.

As his vision started to fade to white, he could hear McGee crying, pressing harder on the bullet wound, begging Gibbs to stay, but he couldn't. It just wasn't possible this time. He had cheated death one too many times, and now his time had come. He looked up at the white that was soon all-encompassing, and as the pain faded away, Gibbs sat up to find himself no longer lying on the asphalt. He was somewhere white...or cream...somewhere very bright. Without warning, a very delighted voice yelled, "Daddy!" and he was barreled into by a very excited seven year-old. "You're here!"

"Kelly..." Gibbs' words were getting caught in his throat. "It's good to see you again, kiddo."

Kelly looked up at him with every ounce of adoration he remembered seeing in her whenever he did something special for her. "I know that you're here because something bad happened," she said. "But it was time, wasn't it?"

"They were going to force me into retirement," Gibbs said. "I wouldn't have lasted very long on my own with nothing to do."

"You never told me I had a sister," Kelly said.

Gibbs frowned. "A sister?" he asked, uncomprehending.

Two women's laughter approached and he finally tore his eyes away from Kelly, to find both Shannon and Kate there, looking him over. "You look like hell, Gibbs," Kate said.

Gibbs couldn't help it, he laughed. He walked over to Kate and hugged her, and kissed Shannon. "I missed the two of you," he said.

Shannon just smirked at him. "Now, I knew you had a habit of picking up strays, Jethro, but building an entire second family, that's something I never expected from you."

Kelly walked over and grabbed Gibbs' hand. "Katie's super cool! She's played with me a ton, and we've both been waiting for you to join us! Everyone does, eventually."

Gibbs shook his head in disbelief. "Are there others here that I know?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, quite a few people," Shannon said. "Including one of your ex-wives. We have fun laughing over you every Tuesday."

"Come on, we'll show you around," Kate said, tilting her head to the side to gesture behind her. "You're going to like it here. And when the others show up we can all live in the same neighborhood, if not the same house."

"Well, of course I'll be happy. With family like you guys, how could I not be?" Gibbs asked.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so, so much for reading and commenting and loving my works over the years. This started because of a half-baked idea that refused to leave my head in 2016 and it grew into something truly amazing. I love every last one of you who ever left a kudos, who commented, who bookmarked, who silently watched on as I continued to write. There will be one final work in this series, after this, which is a bunch of unfinished stories that I was working on before the end of this. I'll say it there, and I'll say it here, too: as I'm done with the series, you all are free to play in the universe however you like.
> 
> And, if you haven't already, go check out bluemoonblues' NCIS series that they're starting up--I love it, and hopefully you all will too!


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